How they comforted her, one and all. Humphrey told stories of his Yorkshire farm, until he had to clear his throat again and again, and they begged him to go on even when he said he simply could not say another word. He held Jean on his knee and sang a funny Yorkshire song to him. The time flew by with happy talk as they roasted apples over the little fire, no one objecting in the least to the smoke. Dian sat back in a far corner, his hands clasped on his knee, his eyes closed. The hidden cellar had performed its task, had justified itself. It had saved the lives of two of the Saint Frères, and of their friends. It had proved itself to be a stronghold, a refuge, even a home. It had opened its dark arms to receive the last Lisle Saint Frère, protecting him from those who would have had his head on the guillotine block. It had opened those same arms for the little girl who knew and loved it, and who had been the one of her generation chosen to know of it. To-morrow was in God’s hands. Dian was not afraid. He was glad for many things. He was glad to hear children’s laughter, glad that the comtesse was through the gates and that Marie Josephine had been the one to aid her, glad of the friendship of honest Humphrey Trail, and that there would be a safe refuge for them all with Humphrey in England. He stood up, his great height bringing him almost to a level with the rough stone ceiling, and, coming over to them, answered their welcoming call of “Dian, come and stay with us,” with a smile that had in it something of sadness. Then he went over to the chest and, standing by it, beckoned them to come to him. They came, all of them, and looked at him in wonder as he stood there lost in thought. Suddenly he turned toward Lisle, who stood beside him, and he touched him lightly on the shoulder. It was as though he was knighting him for something. “You are the last of these Saint Frères who have been such a brave race of men. You have the name of the first one of them of whom there is record, and of whom there is much to remember. He helped to build this hidden place with his own hands. He said that one member of the family in each generation should know of this cellar and, knowing, should bear in mind always that it was built with a prayer, and that the prayer was to remember one’s brother, to turn away from tyranny and the lust of power. That was what the first Lisle Saint Frère wanted of those of his own blood who were to come after him.” Dian looked at Lisle as he spoke. “Your grandfather was the one who came nearest to the first Lisle’s wish. Of that I am sure,” he said simply. Then Lisle did a strange thing, so unlike him that those about him could not believe their eyes. He clasped his hands as though in prayer and stood silent for a moment, and it was as though he neither saw nor was aware of those about him. “Help me to be like the first Lisle,” he prayed.